Cornerstone: (n) a stone uniting two masonry walls at an intersection.
My children hate President Trump.
On the other hand, I live in a community where I often find myself surrounded by people who think President Trump hung the moon. (Well, probably didn’t hang the moon, but has acquired building rights on it.)
When I get around my children, they sometimes become convinced that I am a conservative Republican because I refuse to join them in their vendetta against the President. And when I meet up with old friends who were once hot sauce and have become milder over the years, they are a little fearful that I might be “too liberal” for them.
I am neither liberal nor conservative.
I find myself being the stone that the builders often reject. They look at me and say, “He’s too gentle. He’s too calm. He’s too accommodating. He’s too open. He’s too willing to share. He has no place in our plans for a cataclysmic conclusion.”
I do sometimes feel rejected.
I don’t hate the President of the United States. I don’t even wish to tell you whether I agree or disagree with him, since he personally has not asked my opinion.
I am not the kind of person who likes to hide behind rocks, spit at people when they walk by, and then run.
Likewise, I am despaired of joining clubs or organizations that refuse to change their rules or guidelines when the mercy of realization has made it clear that transformation and adjustment are in order.
Yet I take heart.
There is an old adage: “The stone the builders rejected becomes the cornerstone.”
Somewhere along the line, my angry children and my complacent old friends will meet each other once again and I will be there…to bridge the gap.